A Warm Place
by thecasualty
Summary: Peter Pettigrew is forced to wander the Dungeons alone, but during his walk, he finds something surprising and pleasant.


**A Warm Place.  
**

Peter muttered to himself as he walked sluggishly down the dungeon corridors. "I always have to do the hard stuff, while they sit on their arses, comfortably mocking everything and everyone," he thought. Being among the Marauders was a pleasure but it was also a pain. There were a generous amount of perks Peter had come to treasure through his friendships with Sirius Black, James Potter, and Remus Lupin. They were among the most popular boys in school, and Peter was chosen out of all others to be included in all their devious pranks, outlandish talks, secretive rendezvous, all the while breaking every rule designed to render them still. For once in his life, he felt wanted. Although his friends often teased him for his subdued and shy behaviour, although he was viewed as a grotesque figure in the light of his beautiful friends, Peter was just grateful that he had a place to call home at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and people that he could call family. It was a gift that he had finally been blessed with.

Normally Peter didn't mind the difficult tasks the boys thrusted upon them. Seeing as his Animagi form was the most useful and subtle, Peter actually took much pride in completing their tasks. He felt as if he were contributing to a greater whole, that his tiny infraction in their mischief would service him well, that he was truly apart of a cause, even if it be just a cause for trouble. But today, Peter was not in the mood. He was only human, and by nature, full of doubt. He was frustrated that his friends not only forgot his birthday, but forced Peter to search the Dungeons past hours. He couldn't understand what for. They simply said to search the Dungeons and let them know if he found anything. He found the order simply too vague to comprehend, but how could he return to them empty-handed? What would he say? Would he be defiant and purposeful? He was a bloody Gryffindor, he was brave, but in the face of his godly friends, he was a coward. They would shame him and turn their backs on him. He would be cast coldly from his family. Peter would not sacrifice his only true family, not even for the sake of his dignity. Luckily, pride was never a problem for Peter. His life at home was pitiful, and he wasn't an exceptional student without help, so his only pride rested with his title. He was a _Marauder_. It meant a ton of pure, solid gold for anyone to speak the word, but even more so, to know the word was meant for you. Even in Peter's gloomy misery, he smiled about it; a slow, lop-sided grin that flashed blue in the taut and dim torchlight littering the stone walls. It often frightened the poor stout boy, his obsession with the Marauders. He had never found anything more fulfilling and that feared him. What was expected of him? To complete a wizard's education, to get a job, to marry and have children? He knew deep in his heart that he would be unsatisfied if that were his future, and unfortunately, it was the future that awaited him. Peter contemplated this notion, and it brought a tinge of pain to his chest. He clutched at his skin, for his skin often became unbearable, and he knew he could not shed it. He would be left to curse his friends and their existence in his life; he would curse the inevitability of deserting the comfort and exultation of Hogwarts. He would curse the word and all its glorification; _Marauder_.

Peter shook his head, determined to return to normalcy. He wasn't often pessimistic, for he did not possess the keen insight and deep emotional presence that pessimists were masters of. Peter was dull in emotion, and a slave to those with greater intellect, with strong egos and large appetites for power and glory. He cherished Sirius, James, and Remus, and therefore would never think to abandon his place as a Marauder. He would complete his duties without complaint, and in return, they would acknowledge his presence, they would pat him on the back, they would call him a friend. They often defended him in the face of humiliation, daring and taunting anyone to fight them, to bruise them or disagree with them. On the off chance that a brave one would, they would fight back till the brave one was no longer brave, but scorned, and the four boys were sitting in detention, threatened with expulsion if it were to happen again. And again it would, no matter what the cost. Peter had yet to find a rarer friend.

A strange glow was taking precedence over the statute blue from the torch lights. Wandering his thoughts, Peter had forgotten he was wandering the Dungeon halls as well, in search for something entirely unknown to him. Yet, the warm glow at the end of the current corridor he walked was inviting and interesting. Perhaps he had finally found something? An excited flutter erupted in his stomach, racing its way to his heart. His nerves tingled happily. He would not be a disappointment to his friends. Peter could not run wildly down the hall and satisfy his curiosity. What if somebody was lurking in the shadows? He would be an easy match without the protection of his mates. Instead, he walked cautiously, tiptoeing gently down the hall, his hand sliding warily along the stone wall, his wand in his other hand, ready to counterattack if necessary. When he finally reached the end of the hall and the soft light waiting, he shifted nervously and uncertainly. Now that he was here, what would he do? The light came from a door left slightly ajar; it twisted around the edge and licked the handle, revealing it to be a shimmering bronze in colour. Gently, as gently as Peter could manage, for he was a clumsy boy, he pushed the door open. What greeted him on the other side was so unexpected; he nearly toppled to the floor.

There was a loud chorus of "Surprise" and hard clapping that followed. The sound of music was also evident above the noise and Peter was only aware of an arm wrapped around his shoulders in an effort to steady him, and to calm his wits. It was Remus Lupin, who was shouting Happy Birthday to him. Standing around with large grins on their faces were James and Sirius. They looked mighty pleased with themselves, and happily came to pat their best mate on the shoulder and back. "Happy birthday chum," they announced. Peter had thought his friends had forgotten it was his birthday. His heart was bursting with joy and all previous melancholy was replaced with a soft happiness that would soon force him to tears. In that moment, he had never been so grateful to be friends with the Marauders, to be a _Marauder_. He looked around the decorated room. There were balloons in different sizes of red and gold, streamers trickling over old desks and chairs, scattered around the abandoned room to heighten the party effect. A large sign painted in bold red letters on a white canvas was strung to the ceiling; it hung lopsidedly downwards, but Peter could make out what it said without difficulty. "To a mousy friend and a great chap; Happy Birthday Peter!" He laughed at the irony. There were voices surrounding him, he could see Frank Longbottom sitting comfortably with a young girl named Alice. He could make out the character of Sturgis Podmore, his loud voice resonating throughout the room, a permanent wide smile on his face. Dorcas Meadowes sat on a chair; she held a butterbeer and she waved happily at Peter. It was then that he finally noticed the butterbeers stacked wildly on the table, a large cauldron cake with a messy P decorated in icing, licorice wands and caramel apples and other desserts that sat invitingly on red-topped table. His eyes were wide with wonder. His friends stood expectantly around him, Remus' arm still holding his shoulder. "Thank you," Peter began. He could not continue for he was starting to choke up. He did not speak in fear of crying. His friends laughed, gently mocking him, their eyes twinkling with understanding. "It's your party mate," Sirius smiled. "So let's go eat that cake now!" They laughed simultaneously, and Peter walked with his best mates, the four of them linked by the arm. He was truly a _Marauder_, ready to enjoy a life worth celebrating for; the one that was his own.


End file.
